


An Extra Bed

by Acacia Carter (xaandria)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaandria/pseuds/Acacia%20Carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville's not just going to leave Harry out on the couch when Ginny's kicked him out of bed again. He's got a perfectly good extra bed in his room, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Extra Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written smut for going on ten years now. In my opinion, I'm pretty terrible at it, and I avoid writing it when I can. Which is probably why the gauntlet of challenge was cast down by a reader who amazingly remembers me from my smut days, back when FF.net allowed such things. And so now I'm here, and would you look at that. There's Neville, and just offstage waiting for his cue is Harry, and do they have an interesting night in store for them...

Movement from the corner of Neville’s eye made him look up from the book he was studying intently. Disappearing from his field of view behind the doorframe was the corner of a blanket.

Knowing blankets didn’t usually move around by themselves, even here in Twelve Grimmauld Place, Neville’s curiosity got the best of him and he put down the book. It was getting late, anyway, and he’d be useless tomorrow if he didn’t go to bed soon. He’d just check to see what the blanket business was first.

As he suspected, he found Harry in the living room, laying a pillow on the couch and getting ready to spread the blanket over the cushions.

“Ah. Ginny mad at you again, then?”

“Astute guess,” Harry said wryly. “What gave it away?”

“Blimey, Harry, this is the fourth time this month. What did you do this time?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything. She’s mad at me because I keep getting home late, and when I get home I’m tired and I want to go to sleep. She can’t quite seem to get it into her head how exhaustive combat training is.”

“She’s never dealt with combat without a wand,” Neville pointed out. “It is rather hard to believe how tiring throwing people around is if you haven’t done it yourself.”

“And how is that _my_ fault? Why should _I_ get kicked to the couch for that?” Harry snapped the blanket out irritably. “Bloody thing still smells like doxycide. Why is everything I own rubbish?”

“If it’s that bad, and you don’t mind the alternative, I’ve still got two beds in my room, for whatever reason,” Neville offered. “Can’t say how comfortable the second one is, but at least it doesn’t smell like doxycide.” He cracked a smile. “It’ll be like school again, except without Ron’s snoring.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. I can hear him two rooms down.” Harry furrowed his brow, considering. “All right then,” he said, snatching his pillow from the couch. “It’s got to be better than here.”

 

* * *

 

Neville was a light sleeper. He suspected he always would be, after the year of hiding and striking at the false authority figures at Hogwarts. At any rate, it did not usually take much to snap him out of his doze and lunge for the wand that he always kept by his pillow, out of habit, and so when a sound next to him registered at the back of his sleeping mind that night, he sat bolt upright and had his wand in hand before Harry had a chance to let out a strangled cry and pull his sheet back up to his chest.

Neville’s eyes cast around wildly for a few seconds before his body and mind agreed there was no danger in the room, and then settled on Harry in the bed next to him. Even in just the dim light from the window, Neville could tell that the other boy’s face was turning a deep crimson, and the thin sheet that was all that could be borne this hot summer night did nothing to conceal what he had been doing.

“Blimey, Harry,” Neville said, putting his wand back down next to his pillow and running a hand through his hair. “Did you lose all your carefully procured skills of furtive masturbation while you were out of school?”

“I—what?”

Neville rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that long ago. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Just because the beds had had curtains didn’t mean that one had privacy; you had to pick your times carefully, learn how to tell when everyone was asleep, figure out how to make your breathing sound normal even at climax. And then there was the cleaning up, that was sometimes the hard bit. You learned very quickly to avoid the other boys’ socks, and to feel quite sorry for whoever did the laundry.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. “It’s just...”

And there it was, that Wall of Awkwardness. It always seemed to show up when you desperately needed to talk about something very personal, made the words ten times harder to say and twenty times more embarrassing once you got them out. More often than not, it was easier to just say “never mind” and turn over and hope everyone forgot everything in the morning than to scale the Wall of Awkwardness. It wasn’t much easier for the person on the other side of the Wall, either—usually due to empathy, and Neville was nothing if not ridiculously empathic. He could feel the humiliation pouring off Harry in waves and fully expected the easier approach to occur, was even preparing to lie back down, when Harry took a deep breath and propped himself up on his elbows to better turn his head and look at Neville.

“Have you ever had one of those particularly vivid sex dreams that you wake up from, and you’re nearly there, and you’re not quite awake yet and you just...” the characteristic false matter-of-fact tone trailed off into nothing. Neville grimaced inwardly. That wasn’t how you did it at all, you were supposed to keep the statement short so you didn’t lose that false matter-of-fact tone halfway through and slide back down the Wall of Awkwardness.

But if Harry was determined to scale the Wall, then Neville would help. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I have.”

Harry seemed heartened by Neville’s willingness to talk, even if it had only been three words. “Have...have the dreams ever been about something...unexpected?”

Oh bloody hell, with that question he’d passed the hard part of scaling the Wall over to Neville. If he didn’t provide an actual answer, everything would collapse badly. He licked his lips, made very careful eye contact with his toes. “Unexpected? I...guess you could call it that. Back before I realized...”

Harry drew in a sharp breath that was not quite a gasp. Here it was, they’d reached the summit, this next sentence would make or break it all. “But...just ‘cause you dream about a...a bloke...it doesn’t mean you’re gay, right?”

Neville felt like sighing with relief as the Wall of Awkwardness fell away and it suddenly became much easier to talk.  “Not necessarily. I mean, I’m not exactly a shining example, I suppose, but...when you get right down to it, sex is just...nice. And your body reacts. Doesn’t _make_ you gay or straight or somewhere in between, just dreaming it.”

Harry didn’t look particularly reassured. “But...I’m getting turned on by a bloke.” He seemed slightly surprised by how much easier it was to talk now. Wall of Awkwardness. Some people never knew what it was like to tear it down.

“You’re probably getting turned on by the idea of someone else being turned on,” Neville suggested. “More common than you’d think.” He grinned, brought his eyes up to meet Harry’s almost shyly. “Honestly, it doesn’t take much to turn us on, does it?”

Harry still looked doubtful. Neville sighed, kicked away his sheet, and stood up.

It was really quite warm in the room; the window faced west and though it was open now to catch whatever night breezes it could, it had been basking the room in the hot sun all afternoon and evening. As such, both of them had eschewed pyjamas and instead opted for boxer shorts. Neville spread his arms and turned slowly on the spot. “All right, here you go. Mostly naked bloke, you know he’s gay, he’s right in front of you. I have it on good authority that should you request, he’d probably do mostly anything for you—or to you.” He waggled his eyebrows outrageously, almost startling himself with his boldness. “Does it turn you on?”

“Um. Yeah, actually.” It was obvious that Harry was simultaneously trying to stare and not stare.

“Oh.” Neville let his arms drop. He hadn’t exactly been expecting that response. “Well then.” He licked his lips and was suddenly slightly nervous. The last time he’d assured a male friend he wasn’t gay, things had gone as planned and he’d put his shirt back on and gone back to sleep at this point. That didn’t seem appropriate at this juncture.

Perhaps it was because Harry looked so terrified and confused. Perhaps it was because really, he’d been noticing Harry for some years now. Perhaps it was because, frankly, it had been a long time since he’d had anyone but his hand and some memories to keep himself company. Whatever the reason, he went to sit down, but instead of sitting on his own bed, he sat at the edge of Harry’s, next to his waist.

“In that case, there are some interesting opportunities that have just opened up,” he said, surprising himself with the husky timbre his voice had somehow acquired in the last few seconds. He could no longer ignore the stirrings of arousal in his groin that had been nagging him for the past several minutes, and as soon as he acknowledged them he could feel himself begin to get properly hard with admirable speed. He looked very intently at Harry, met his eyes and held them.

Harry swallowed, licked his lips, took a shaky breath as though he wanted to say something. Neville placed a finger on his lips.

“Harry. Do you want me to touch you?”

Harry nodded, hesitant at first, but then more fervently.

“Do you trust me?”

Another nod.

“Close your eyes. Relax. I’m not going to do anything to hurt you, and if you tell me to stop—at any time—I’ll stop.”

Another nod, and Harry took another shaky breath and closed his eyes.

Neville slipped out of the cotton confines of his boxers, let them fall to the floor as he stretched out on his side next to Harry.

Now that he was here, where he’d wanted to be for several years, he wasn’t quite sure where to begin. He contented himself for now with nuzzling where Harry’s neck met his shoulder, nipping softly at the pale skin, delighting in the gooseflesh that rose over Harry’s arms and chest. He moved down slowly, deliberately, working his mouth over Harry’s collarbone, down to his nipple. He worried it gently between his teeth, earning a sharp intake of breath from his unexpected lover, and he raised a hand to pinch the other—not sharply, but enough to make it hard and sensitive.

He took his time exploring Harry’s body, tasting the salt of sweat from the heat of the night on his skin, relishing the shudders that he sent through Harry’s body as he ran his hands and tongue and lips over it. He reached down and stroked Harry’s inner thigh, working in small circles up to his groin, earning another small moan in the process as well as a bucking of the hips.

Neville gently undid Harry’s grip on his cock, where he had begun pumping with some urgency; Neville had other plans for that. Harry’s hand, thus freed, grasped Neville’s shoulder and Neville decided he quite liked it there. Slowly, and with great care, Neville took Harry in his hand, which bought him another gasp and another thrust of the hips.

 _Like that, then, do you_ , Neville thought smugly, _then this will drive you mad_. Starting at the base of his cock, Neville ran his tongue along the underside up to the head, where a pearly bead of pre-come glistened until Neville’s tongue lapped over it. Harry cried out this time, quietly, his fingers gripping Neville’s shoulder tightly.

Neville could sense Harry’s urgency; he felt it within himself, and he’d not even touched himself yet. He gave Harry’s cock another slow lick before taking the head in his mouth and then going down the shaft in earnest. Not for too long; Harry only got two or three thrusts in before Neville let him go, covering his belly and torso with kisses once again as he worked his way up, faster than he had gone down, reaching a hand around to pull Harry onto his side.

Reaching down between them, he grasped both their straining cocks, bringing the heads and shafts together, Harry’s still wet with saliva and pulsing in the telltale sign of someone very close to orgasm. That was just fine, Neville reflected as he let a moan escape his lips against Harry’s neck, as he wasn’t going to be lasting much longer either. He began to stroke, slowly, feeling Harry’s cock against his and reveling in the way the head of Harry’s slipped against his, then increased the speed as Harry’s moans became more heated. He canted his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes as he felt his balls tighten—

Harry came just a few seconds before him, the fluid adding a moment’s lubrication before Neville gasped and felt himself shoot. Harry had snaked an arm around his shoulders and squeezed as he came, with a shuddering exhalation and what Neville could have sworn was his own name whispered in a scream into his ear.

They lay panting on the bed, Harry’s head nestled between Neville’s shoulder and neck, as Neville pumped a few more times and then let go, releasing them. Harry did not let go, and did not remove his head from where it lay against Neville’s neck; Neville did not much feel like moving either.

It could have been a minute or an hour before Harry stirred, rolling onto his back, and opened his eyes to meet Neville’s. Neville smiled ever so slightly, and the ghost of a smile played around Harry’s lips as well.

Wordlessly, they moved to Neville’s bed, the larger of the two and, at the moment, the driest. Neville cradled Harry to him, Harry’s back against his front, buried his face in the tousled black locks and inhaled deeply. In all likelihood, he reflected as he dozed off, they’d wake in an hour or two, _scourgify_ the sheets of the other bed to an acceptable level of cleanliness, and never speak of what had just happened again. But for now, he was content.

And he had been known to be wrong before.


End file.
